


from the last to the first

by callingthequits



Series: we are golden [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callingthequits/pseuds/callingthequits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's to Hermione, to Ron, and to Harry. It's after the war, in the Three Broomsticks, that they realize that they will never let go of each other. Before, during, after...never. They're the Golden Trio. They're to the edge of the earth.</p><p>The pseudo-sequel to Always, with quotes taken from 30 Seconds To Mars' This Is War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from the last to the first

**Author's Note:**

> So, we have the sort-of pseudo-sequel to Always. Hey, if you guys like that story, please go vote for it as Best Drama-Angst Story in 2013 Spring-Summer Awards! If you'd like to help another author out, please do it! It would really mean a lot.
> 
> If you were wondering where this came from, it came from the elation of being nominated and watching that famous "Harry Potter | The War" fanvid that is seriously amazing. I listened to 30 Seconds To Mars' "This is War" the entire duration of writing this fic too, which helped. I also got the quotes there.

_a_

Hermione sighs, and turns her head around to smile at her best friends. The sun shines in their eyes, making them so much brighter all of a sudden that it makes her catch her breath. Her heart aches. Lately, they've been so dark. Sometimes, she wondered if they were black all along. But looking at them now, all scorched up and burnt, scars and bruises and ragged clothes, she thinks they're the handsomest they've ever been.

She hasn't seen them this innocently happy since they were first years.

And, unconsciously, she lets out a sob that she's been holding off all year.

"Hermione, you alright?" Ron asks, and of course he notices first, he always notices her. She's probably never been more in love with him than that moment. His hair's a mess, he's got a black eye forming from when a random Death Eater punched him in the face (and, alright, she might've done worse to the Death Eater for that, but she had a damn good reason), and he's limping a bit. But he's smiling at her with a twinkle in his eyes and then the edges crinkle just right and she can honestly she thought of him as one of those famous actors on the telly.

"You know, he's got a point, you do look quite peachy," Harry says, and he's grinning in that mischievous troublemaker way and it hits her just how long it's been that he's looked like that. He's paler than usual, she notes, and she can tell that's absolutely exhausted. He's been sporting eyebags ever since they went out "camping" (a thought that makes her wrinkle her nose whenever she thinks about it), and his glasses, eternally crooked, are cracked. But he's grinning, a light in his eyes, and she realizes just how young they are.

Too young for war.

Too young to defeat Voldemort.

Too young to die.

And she laughs, actually laughs, and tears form and fall down her cheek. When she opens her eyes again, she realizes that Harry and Ron joined in, and it's honestly just so ridiculous. Three war heroes, the ones most involved in defeating Voldemort, the ones who ended the war, and they're doubled over laughing at nothing.

They might as well have been too young for everything they've been through. They're definitely not too young for this.

And when they've sobered up, Hermione looks at her two best friends, and says, "Nothing. Guess I'm just glad I have you two, Merlin knows why. Let's go grab a Butterbeer, yeah?"

 

_brave_

Ron plays with his fingers, a little bit giddy and a little bit too energized. It's been too long since he's felt like this, too long since he hasn't felt like the world's far too comfortable on his shoulders. He sighs a happy sigh as the Butterbeer sinks down to his stomach, warm and homely and everything he hasn't been in a year.

He's wanted Voldemort to bugger off for years. Glad to see he finally took his advice.

So he glances over to Hermione, who's blocked a bit because Harry's between them, and manages to catch his breath before it flutters off to an unknown place that he's too tired to find. Her hair's even more of a bushy, tangled mess than it already was, her bruises hidden, and her pain obvious. But she's smiling, and happy, and he doesn't quite catch his breath again; bloody thing's like a Snitch. His heart thumps and his hands quiver, wanting to reach out, hold her, protect her, feel her under his palm and know she loves him as much as he loves her.

She's absolutely beautiful.

Especially when she's taking on Bellatrix. He watched her fight the bloody hag back at the castle and he's never been more relieved he wasn't a Death Eater right at that moment because _damn_. What a girl. And, if she lets him, his girl. Somehow, he manages not to stupidly grin in glee.

"Earth to Ron, Earth to Ron! You know what, nevermind, he's a goner. Maybe you should go find a different man, Hermione, this one is hopelessly broken and - you didn't have to hit me so hard!"

"He's good enough for me, thank you. And you know you deserved that!"

Harry, the reckless idiot, just grins cheekily at her as if she wasn't capable of utterly destroying him. Ron laughs, and snarks, "She's right Harry, you know you can't insult me! I'm famous now!" Harry turns around, punches him in the shoulder, weakly, and Ron just smirks at his forever shorter best mate. Because Harry is short, and scrawny, has the worst temper ever, eats far too much treacle tart to be socially acceptable, and apparently has a weakness for that little ice cream shop at Diagon Alley. But most of all, Harry is breathing, and alive, not dead, and with him right here.

And maybe a lot of people are dead right now, like Fred, Remus, Dobby. But so is Voldemort, and damn it, Weasley's never felt so much like a king than right now. Because right now? He's with Hermione, and Harry, with the promise of a real future ahead of them. With them.

So maybe he doesn't quite catch his breath there either, maybe hears his heart beat too quickly, and laughs far too loud. But the opposing side's Queen is down, the White pieces have won, and he's never felt this much like a victor in his life.

"Hey," Ron says, "we're alive," and laughs. His two best friends laugh with him.

 

_new_

Harry isn't really doing much of anything. He's hunched over, a glass of Butterbeer in hand, and so impossibly warm. He didn't really think he could have this again. Hell, he never really thought of a life outside the Dursleys. But, somehow, here he is, wondering what he could have ever done to deserve the people sitting right next to him. His friends. His very best.

He closes his eyes and takes another swig. He's pretty sure that whatever he's done, a man deserves to have a drink. After what he's been through? Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't thinking of buying out the entire stock for the next three years.

It hits him he can do that.

Wow.

So after the epiphany of realizing that he's still breathing and this isn't some crude and hopelessly weird dream he's thought of in the afterlife, he decides to focus on the two people on his side; the two people who have always been at his side. On a fun fact, they are both so in love with the other that he can actually feel it. He's glad he had enough common sense to think about that when he took his seat. Otherwise, they's probably be kissing and that'd just be uncomfortable for everybody in a fifteen meter radius.

He says as such, and Hermione sputters while Ron gapes at him. He rolls his eyes. Honestly. Did they think he was stupid, or something?

"Despite the glasses, I'm not blind," he drawls, and they both turn red.

Then they go back to staring at each other with the equal amount of love and longing that he probably gives to ice cream and treacle tarts and Ginny.

He takes another drink.

He's missed her. He kind of wishes she was here with them, actually. Or here with him, just the two of them, all alone, just so he can stare at her and know she's alive. Maybe hold her tight, kiss her, hear her heartbeat, hear her voice...and at the same time, he's content being here with Ron and Hermione, no matter how sickening they are. He's happy for them, really; all those seven years of being infinitely annoyed of the tension between them and it's finally sort of relieved. He's okay with that.

At least, you know, if he actually died, he knew that his two best friends finally got over it and had a bit of tonsil hockey. During a war, but still. He doesn't get that feeling of loneliness watching them together now. It's alright. He's alright. It's just that, maybe, he thinks that things are changing.

Well, obviously, they're not going to Hogwarts anymore. No more Voldemort to worry about, no one to thwart when they get bored. He doesn't have to watch Ron and Hermione be daft idiots about their feelings anymore, and he's got Ginny. He doesn't have to go back to Dursleys. He can actually be considered a legal adult now. He's a man, at least sort of. He can go home to his own house, find his own job, nobody's going to keep that much secrets around, and the Ministry won't be as annoying now that they've got Kingsley. When he sneaks around he doesn't have to watch for any teachers or Peeves, which is probably odd to think about. He can find his own job. Do what he wants.

And these all come to him like lightning; fast and painful. He's an adult. Ron and Hermione aren't going to be by his side all the time. That hurts the worst.

A hand drops on his shoulder, and another clutches his own. He looks up and whirls around to find blue. "You alright there, mate?" Ron asks him quietly, all serious like like he normally isn't.

"Don't go looking like that, Harry, you'll make puppies cry," Hermione tries to joke, but it falls flat and she looks so heartbreakingly sad; no, Harry's pretty sure puppies would cry if _she_  would go out looking like that.

He keeps silent.

"Look," Ron says, with a huff, "you know I'm not good with my feelings things. I'm not that much better talking about them. But you have to get it, Harry. You look like you're going to cry."

He sniffs a bit. "No, I won't. I took down Voldemort, you saw me. I'm not going to just _ **—**_ " But it's too late, he can't see very well, and he feels something hot trickle down his cheek. Gently, Hermione takes off his glasses, and he wipes his eyes. How embarrassing. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Defeater of Voldemort, breaking down in a little pub in Hogsmeade. Wish the Wizarding World could see him now.

It takes a minute, two, for him to catch his breath. "You're not going to leave, aren't you?" He asks, feeling so helplessly small. But it's a necessary question, at least for him. He wouldn't have survived a day without them, much less the rest of his life. He wouldn't be able to deal with that. He just, he just...can't.

He needs them.

Hermione pulls him into a hug, and slowly, Ron eases in. They don't say anything, and Harry likes to think they don't need to. Maybe they need this just as much as he does. The quiet refuge in knowing that all three of them are alive, well, and breathing. None of them are dead, and none of them are close to. They're all warm. Warm is good. Warm means home.

Hermione starts, "Oh Harry—"

—and Ron finishes for her. "Not ever."

Harry snuggles in closer, feeling their warmth. "I wouldn't leave you guys either," he says. Because, to be honest? With his best friends, this is where he belongs. This, they are his.

Harry can live with this.

 

_world_


End file.
